"What for?" demanded Wood. He had not addressed to her even the most ordinary courtesy of fellow travellers; she doubted that he was even aware of her existence. “You go home,” he said, at parting; “you go home. ‘Here, miss,’ came faintly from somewhere close at hand. ” Mrs. “These clothes are French, and I’m sure this floppy bow would make a Frenchman of me anyhow. Practically. I can’t even make myself care. Rank ingratitude, I call it.
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